Chalk Marks on Water
by Rambling Scribe
Summary: Family problems force Ruth to confide in Harry. Will this be the beginning or the end of their relationship? Post 5.4, so spoilers up to then.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer - Spooks belongs to Kudos and the BBC**

**A/N - This is very much Ruth and Harry. AU set post 5.4. Unbeta'd so blame me for any mistakes.  
**

**For Em x**

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The Grid's lights have switched to energy saving mode and most of the desks are now in darkness. Ruth presses her fingers against her temples in a vain attempt to relieve the headache that started earlier. The lure of home and a hot bath is becoming overwhelming and she sighs as she picks up the assortment of documents and passports stacked on the end of her desk. All she has to do is lock them away and the end of her long and demanding day will be in sight. As she enters the forgery suite, everything slips from her grasp. She feels a prickling sensation at the back of her eyes and hot tears start to drip down her face.

Harry watches her as she trudges past his office. She looks pale and drawn. He knows something is wrong; even a simple conversation has seemingly taken all her strength today. He is out of his chair and striding across the floor towards the forgery suite before he can change his mind.

She doesn't know he is standing behind her, saying her name. She only becomes aware of his presence when she feels his hands on her shoulders, gently turning her round to face him. She can't speak and he doesn't question her. Instead, he pulls her towards him and holds her.

Taking her into his arms is an instinctive reaction and he will deal with the consequences, of which he is certain there will be several, later. For now, he just wants to concentrate on how tightly she is clinging to him. Her face is pressing into his neck and he can feel her tears running down his skin, into the collar of his shirt.

Ruth doesn't know how long she stays in Harry's embrace. Time no longer seems important to her. The only thought in her head is how safe she feels pressed against his body with his arms wrapped around her. Not quite the only thought. She wonders, hazily, why he is doing this. She rejected him but he is there, giving her comfort. He's holding on to her in more ways than one.

Eventually, she pulls away from him but his hands remain on her shoulders, keeping a physical connection.

"Th-thank you," she whispers.

"You don't have to tell me but I'm guessing you're not upset because of this," he gestures towards the papers strewn over the floor.

She makes a choking noise, which could be an attempt at a laugh. "No. It's…it's stupid. I'm stupid."

"You are _not_ stupid." His voice is gentle but the underlying sentiment is clear.

She nods shakily before sniffing and rummaging through the pocket of her skirt for a tissue.

"Here," he pushes a handkerchief into her hand. "It's clean."

She takes it and dabs at her eyes. Then she moves away from him and blows her nose. When she turns around, he is crouching down, collecting up the documents she has dropped. Wordlessly, she helps him.

-x-

As they stop at the traffic lights, Ruth studies the queue of people at the bus stop. Usually, she would be with them but instead she is in the warmth of Harry's car. She is grateful for his offer of a lift home; an offer he makes from time to time but she declines. She sniffs, quietly, and dabs at her nose with his handkerchief, which she still seems to be clutching. She's vaguely aware of him moving and his fingers curl around hers, just for a moment.

The journey passes in silence; they are both lost in their own thoughts. They have so much to say to each other but neither of them know where to begin.

-x-

"Come in." She leaves the front door open and walks purposefully down the hall, forcing him to do as she asks. His hand rests on the latch long after it has clicked into place as he considers the recklessness of what he is about to do.

"Tea or coffee," Ruth calls from the kitchen.

"Tea, please."

There is the sound of the kettle being filled and a rattle of crockery. He takes off his coat, hangs it up and heads towards her.

"I've run out of milk, sorry." Cupboard doors are frantically opened and closed. "There's some powdered stuff somewhere. At least I thought there was."

"It's OK, I can have coffee-"

She has stopped the hunt for the elusive dried milk and is leaning heavily against the counter with her back to him.

"Ruth?"

There is a loud sob. "I'm sorry."

For the second time that evening she is in his arms, crying. He doesn't want to upset her further but makes it clear that he would like an explanation.

"But first," he says, gently, "you will go and have a shower and get changed, and I will get some milk."

She rubs a shaky hand over her face and nods her agreement.

-x-

Ruth pauses in the doorway to the kitchen, trying to take in the scene in front of her. The table has been laid and there is a bowl of salad in the centre of it. Harry has removed his jacket and has a tea towel slung over his left shoulder. He is busy at the stove but senses her presence and turns around.

"Feeling better?"

"Y-yes." She takes a couple of steps into the room. "Um, what are you doing?"

"Making us something to eat. You don't mind do you?"

There is something sweetly appealing about his uncertainty. "No, it's fine. Thank you."

"Sit down then, it's nearly ready."

She does as she's told. "I think you bought more than milk," she teases him, knowing full well she did not have the ingredients for the omelette he places in front of her.

"Your fridge was bare."

She shrugs. "I didn't get around to doing any shopping over the weekend."

He shakes his head. "And you thought I lived on tinned tuna and crisps."

She acknowledges his comment with a slight smile. "I'm not usually this disorganised."

"I know. Your organisational skills are one of your virtues."

She looks at him, trying to gauge if he is making fun of her. There is something in his eyes that she has seen before; a softness that reminds her of his dinner invitation. The memory causes a stab of pain in her heart and she does what she always does: changes the subject.

"This looks good. Is being able to cook one of your virtues?"

He laughs, softly. "Probably my only one."

She makes a start on her food. "This _is_ good."

He watches her eat. "You didn't have any lunch, did you?"

"Neither did you."

He doesn't respond immediately; he knows this is her way of deflecting the conversation away from herself so he lets the silence linger on.

"You didn't answer my question," he says, eventually.

Ruth concentrates on the food in front of her as she speaks. "No, I didn't have any lunch." She looks up at him for a moment. "Just like you."

"You're right, as always."

"Is that another of my virtues?"

He is visibly amused. "Absolutely."

She tries not to smile but he sees the corners of her mouth turn up.

* * *

**Thanks for reading. More soon. **


	2. Chapter 2

**Thanks for all the reviews. Next chapter for you. **

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Ruth's sitting room is cluttered; bookcases line one wall. There is a large sofa with a throw on it; piled up next to it are some leather-bound photograph albums. Harry settles himself onto the couch and points to them.

"Been having a sort out?"

"Yes and no." She sits down next to him. "I've been having a bit of a reminisce. It's part of the reason I've been upset."

She is silent for a few moments so he gently prompts her. "Any particular reason for the trip down memory lane?"

She looks at him, briefly, and then looks away again.

"My mother rang on Saturday. She's decided to sell the house, her house. Well, it was the family home." She hesitates, wondering if she's making any sense but decides to continue anyway. "She's also getting rid of a lot of my father's belongings. There are books and papers, souvenirs from various trips he went on. All manner of things. She's putting it all up for auction."

"Why now?" Harry asks, quietly.

"I'm not entirely sure. She's held on to it all for years, even when she married my stepfather. It's ironic, really. They used to argue about it. David, my stepfather, said he always felt like the lodger but my mother insisted on keeping everything."

"Do you think she still should?"

"I don't know. Part of me does; to do otherwise seems like a betrayal of my father's memory. But then I also think that furniture, books and trinkets aren't a person. Just because I live here in London now doesn't mean I've forgotten about him. I have my memories; I have my photographs."

She leans down and picks up the album from the top of the pile. She opens it, turns a few pages and then stops.

"There," she points at a black and white picture of a tall, well-dressed man whose suit jacket sports a carnation. "That's my father, not long after he qualified as a doctor."

Harry moves closer to her and she balances the album between them. She turns the pages, slowly, showing him more pictures: her parents' wedding, her christening. He is aware she is allowing him to be privy to very personal memories and he is determined not to abuse her trust.

They work slowly through the pictures; she hesitates over school photographs, clearly embarrassed by them.

"God, I look dreadful."

"No you don't." And it's true, she doesn't look dreadful; she looks fragile and vulnerable.

She gives him a half-smile and hurriedly turns the page. There is more awkwardness though, as she realises there are pictures of her in a bikini.

"Damn, I'd forgotten these were in here," she mutters.

"How-" Harry stops, abruptly, then changes tack. "Where were those taken?"

"Bournemouth. I went with some school friends. It was just a few days away to celebrate the end of our first year in the sixth form."

Without realising, she has answered his original question - she was seventeen when the photos were taken. He would have been thirty-four, twice her age. Harry finds this mildly unsettling. Whilst Ruth was enjoying a carefree holiday with her friends, he was a newly-divorced father of two who spent his evenings drinking himself into a stupor.

"What were you doing?"

He realises she is asking him a question. "I'm sorry?"

"In 1987, when I went to Bournemouth. What were you doing that year?"

Too late she realises she shouldn't have asked; the memories are obviously painful.

"Sorry, I'm being very inquisitive."

"No, it's fine." He rubs his hand over his face before continuing. "I was a Senior Field Officer, in London. I hadn't been divorced very long and was trying to get used to being a Sunday Dad. It was a bit of a bleak time."

She can sense the hurt behind his words but is unsure how, or if, she should comfort him. "It must have been very difficult." The words are banal, trite but are all she feels she can offer him.

"It was but I got through it." His tone is matter-of-fact; he is not seeking sympathy. "So was it a good trip?" It seems Harry also has a knack for deflecting the conversation away from himself.

"Yes. Quite restrained though."

"And there's me thinking public school girls went wild when they were let out on their own."

Just for a moment, Ruth almost believes him. "Very funny," she admonishes.

"Sorry." He leans closer to her, gently nudges her arm. "Forgive me?"

"I suppose so." She can't keep up the pretence of being annoyed with him, not when he's so near she can feel the warmth of his forearm against hers. This seems even more intimate then when he was holding her but she doesn't know why.

"Have you had any ideas about what you're going to do about your mother's plans?"

Her sense of relief is tinged with regret when Harry steers the conversation back to the original topic.

"No, no I haven't. I'm still trying to take it all in."

"You should talk to her again. See if she'll explain what's brought the decision on."

"Yes, you're right, I probably should." Ruth closes the album, returns it to the pile on the floor. When she looks up, she notices the time. "Sorry, I hadn't realised how late it was."

Harry stands up, reluctantly. "I should go, let you get some sleep."

They walk slowly down the hallway, both trying to spin out the last few moments together.

He fiddles with his coat buttons, taking his time to do them up. "You'll think about what I said?"

She nods. "Yes, I will. Th-thank you. For the lift…for cooking…everything."

"You're welcome." He hesitates, his hand resting on the door latch. "Anytime you want a lift or to talk…well, you know you only have to ask."

She smiles. "Yes, I know."

He squeezes her arm, gently, and then opens the door. "Night, Ruth."

She watches him walk briskly down the garden path. He turns back to look at her and waves. The night air feels chilly and she shivers but she doesn't close the door until he has driven away.

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**More, soonish. :) **


	3. Chapter 3

**Wee bit angsty but please stick with it. :)**

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Ruth watches, anxiously, waiting for Harry to finish his phone call. As soon as he hangs up, she hurries towards his office. She knocks on the door before opening it partway and stepping quickly through the gap.

"Harry," she begins, her voice quavering, "I was wondering if…would it be a problem if I took Thursday and Friday off?"

He watches her for a moment before replying. She is wringing her hands together and her gaze is fixed on the wall behind his left shoulder.

"No, it's not a problem."

"Thanks. I-" She stops, takes a breath, and then looks at him. "I decided to take your advice. I'm going to see my mother."

He smiles. "Good. I'm sure you'll be able to sort everything out."

She is less confident. "Perhaps. I need to speak to her, face-to-face, I know that much."

"You think her mind is definitely made up?"

"I think it is."

The sadness in her voice is palpable and he fights the urge to take her into his arms again and comfort her.

"Did you get much sleep last night?" he enquires, although he's already sure of the answer.

"A little."

"Don't stay late tonight then."

She begins to protest. "I've got lots of things to sort out if I'm not going to be here for two days."

"Please, Ruth." His tone is firm but kind. "You have tomorrow to do that. We will be able manage without you for a couple of days."

She wavers for a moment before relenting. "OK. I won't stay late."

-x-

By Friday, Harry is feeling bad-tempered and restless. He is missing Ruth and realises, somewhat guiltily, that she's had very little time off since she started working for him. He has become so used to her presence on the Grid, _and in his life_, the voice in his head tells him, that to be without her, even for two days, is intolerable.

He looks at his watch: 8.24 p.m. He should go home, walk Scarlett and have some dinner. Instead, he picks up his phone and presses a couple of buttons. He wonders if she knows it's her number that occupies the first position on his speed dial list.

"Hello? Harry? Is something wrong?"

She sounds out of breath, nervous.

"Hello Ruth. No, nothing is wrong. I just thought I'd see how you're getting on."

"Oh, right." She hesitates. "I'm fine. Everything is…fine."

She might be able to lie convincingly to others but he knows she is not being truthful. "Are you sure?"

"Can you hang on for a minute? I just need to…"

There are muffled voices and then the sound of a door opening and closing. When she speaks again, the background noises have changed.

"Sorry about that. I'm in the garden now; I'll get more privacy here."

"Ah, I see. Everything isn't all right, is it?"

"Not really, no."

His instincts are right.

"My mother's determined to go ahead with her plans. The auctioneer came round today to do the valuation."

The words come out in a rush and he hears her gulp for breath. "I'm sorry, Ruth. It must be upsetting."

"It…it is." There is a pause and when she continues, her voice is cracking. "I c-can't make her change her mind, Harry. We had a big row about it."

"Oh, sweet-" He stops himself. "Ruth, has she told you why she wants to sell everything?"

She doesn't answer immediately and he is certain she's crying. It's breaking his heart.

"Erm," she clears her throat, sucks in a lungful of air. "She says it's time to let go of the past. Time she thought a-about herself. She said there's no point hanging on to such a big house, a family home, if there's n-never going to be a family to live in it."

Harry digests the words. "Does she mean…?"

"Yes. She said that I was obsessed with my career and it was clear to her that I would never have a family. She called me selfish, Harry. Said I was depriving her of the 'joy of grandchildren'. She's convinced no man would want me now anyway."

He is stunned by the spectacular insensitivity of her mother's words. "She can't really mean it, Ruth."

"She does." Her voice is faint and he has to strain to hear her.

"I'm sure she doesn't. It's just words said in the heat of the moment."

"She means it, Harry. She's made her mind up about the house, about everything." The resignation in her voice makes Ruth sound broken and fires up a fierce anger in Harry.

"I can't believe she has been so thoughtless and so bloody inconsiderate. You're her daughter for God's sake! What the Hell does she-"

"Please Harry." The small, plaintive voice stops his rant.

"Sorry. It's…I hate hearing you so upset. I hate you being so upset."

The only response is her quiet breathing.

"Ruth?"

"I'm OK."

He knows she is lying again but decides not to challenge her on it. The idea that has been at the back of his mind all day has now transformed into a definite plan.

"Why don't you try and get some rest and, if you don't mind, I'll speak to you again in the morning."

"OK, I will." She sounds calmer now. "I-I don't mind you ringing me. It'll be good to talk to you."

After they have said their goodbyes, Harry turns back to his computer. It takes him less than five minutes to find what he needs.

"Thank God for Google," he mutters under his breath.

Within another five minutes, he has a hotel booked and one more phone call to make.

"Adam. I was wondering if you and Wes could do me a small favour over the weekend?"

-x-

The blond spook is bleary-eyed as he opens the door to his apartment. "Blimey Harry, I know you said first thing in the morning but I didn't think you _meant_ first thing."

"Er, sorry, Adam but I wanted to make an early start."

Further conversation is prevented as an excited boy and an excited dog greet each other. Once both have been calmed down, Adam offers Harry coffee.

"I really should get going."

"Please Uncle Harry," Wes cajoles. "Stay for a little while. It's been ages since you've been to see me."

Harry is torn. He desperately wants to see Ruth but, equally, Wes' words have a struck a chord with him. "OK, I think I've time for a quick coffee."

Half an hour later, he is ready to leave. He pats Scarlett on the head and tells her to be good.

"You be good as well," he says as he hugs his colleague's son. "Don't tell your Dad," he whispers, as, with practiced sleight of hand, he presses a ten pound note into the boy's palm.

"Thanks Adam. I'll be back tomorrow, about six o'clock I should think."

"No problem," the younger man replies. "Give me a ring and let me know if you'll be later than that."

After Harry's gone, Wes questions Adam. "Where's Uncle Harry going?"

"To see a friend."

"What friend?"

"Auntie Ruth, I think, but," Adam ruffles his son's hair, "don't tell him I told you, OK mate?"

"OK Dad."

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**More soon :)**


	4. Chapter 4

**Next chapter :)**

* * *

Harry brings the car to a halt and switches off the engine. The journey has been relatively trouble-free and the road signs show he is only a few miles from Cheltenham. He reaches into his jacket for his phone. He is not sure what Ruth's reaction is going to be so he hesitates for a few moments before he calls her.

She answers on the fourth ring.

"Hello Ruth. How are you today?"

"I'm…I'm OK."

There is silence as neither of them know what to say next.

"Are you feeling better?" Harry finally asks.

"A bit, I suppose…I…where are you? I can hear traffic."

"Erm, well I'm parked in a lay-by at the moment. About three miles outside of Cheltenham."

"Cheltenham?" she replies, confusion evident in her voice.

"Yes, I decided to…um…come and see you." She doesn't respond so he continues. "After we spoke last night…you were so upset and I thought…I suppose I thought having a friendly face around might help."

Doubt swirls through his mind. What had seemed like a good idea the previous evening now feels impulsive and presumptuous.

"That's…that's very kind of you Harry," she says, quietly. "You didn't have to, though. I mean, driving all this way, giving up your Saturday…for me."

"I don't mind; really, I don't."

Ruth bites her trembling lip, determined not to have another tearful phone conversation with him. "Thank you," she says, breathily.

He's relieved she's not angry. "I was thinking…we can go out somewhere. I'll come and get you-"

"No," she says, quickly, and his heart sinks.

"Oh…I thought a change of scene…"

"Well, yes, that would be good."

Now he's confused. "Ruth?"

"Sorry. What I mean is, yes, I'd love to go out somewhere. With you. But no, don't come and get me. I'll meet you in town."

"OK, where?"

She is quiet for a few moments as she decides on a suitable place.

"The main library. It's easy to find. I'll meet you outside, in, ah, about an hour. Is that all right?"

"Perfect. I'll see you in an hour." He is smiling broadly as he puts his phone away and starts the car.

-x-

Ruth is correct; the library is easy to locate. Harry checks his watch. He still has half an hour before she's due to arrive so decides to look around the imposing building to make the time pass more quickly.

As he wanders past the enquiry desk, a display stand catches his attention: _The Romantic Road – Tours to discover the romance of the Cotswolds_. He picks up one of the colourful booklets and starts looking through it.

"How much is this?" he asks the spiky-haired young man lounging behind the desk.

"Two pounds fifty."

He retrieves some coins from his pocket and hands them over.

There is a wooden bench outside the library entrance and Harry settles himself on it. He is so engrossed in his recent purchase that he fails to notice Ruth walking towards him.

"Hello Harry. Good read is it?"

"Ruth…hello. Er, yes it's quite interesting." He stands up and takes a step towards her. "It's good to see you."

She smiles and shifts awkwardly from one foot to the other. "It's good to see you, too," she says, shyly.

They stand and look at one another, unsure as to whether any sort of physical greeting is appropriate. The seconds tick by and they both realise that a kiss or hug now is probably going to end in embarrassment for one or other of them.

"So, what's it about then?" Ruth says, suddenly gripped by the need to talk.

He looks at her, blankly.

"This." She takes the booklet out of his hand and turns it so that she can read the title. "The Romantic Road…"

Harry curses, inwardly, certain she will think he is dropping hints about progressing their relationship.

She seems unperturbed though, and starts to flick through the pages. "I haven't been to some of these places in years, Harry."

"Is there anywhere in particular you'd like to go," he asks, relieved that she is more interested in the content than the title of the publication.

Her brow furrows as she makes her decision. "Winchcombe." She looks up at him. "I'd like to go to Winchcombe, please."

-x-

They slowly thread their way through the traffic.

"I thought we could go to Sudeley Castle as well, if you want to," Harry suggests as they stop at some traffic lights.

Ruth smiles, sadly. "Sudeley Castle. The last time I went there was the year before my father died. I was ten."

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to be insensitive."

"You're not." Her fingers rest on his arm for a moment. "You weren't to know." She looks out of the window, silently contemplating his offer. "I'd like to go again. It seems very…fitting."

-x-

Harry is attentive as Ruth explains the history of Winchcombe. She's clearly happy to have something else to talk about and he's content to listen to her.

"I'm not boring you, am I?" she asks, unexpectedly.

"No, of course not." He reaches across the table and squeezes her hand. "I could never get bored with you."

The mild ambiguity of his words causes her to frown for a moment.

He, though, is fully aware of the meaning behind his comment. "I could get used to this. Pub lunches, beautiful countryside, lovely weather, and an intelligent and attractive companion."

There is no ambiguity this time and Ruth feels her heart beat a little faster. "Flatterer."

If it is meant as a reprimand, it fails.

"Do you still want to go to the castle?"

She nods. "Yes, but when did you want to leave for London?"

"I'm not going back to London, at least not tonight. I've got a hotel booked."

Ruth is taken aback. He has given up his whole weekend for her; for_ her_. The realisation makes her feel light-headed.

"So," he says, brightly, "we've got plenty of time to go to the castle."

"Good," she finally manages to say. "Good."

-x-

The warm sunshine has gone now, replaced by dark clouds and a distant rumble of thunder. Ruth has become subdued and Harry wonders whether their trip to Sudeley has stirred up unhappy memories.

"You OK?" he asks, tentatively.

"Hmm? Yes." She sighs. "Can we stop for a minute? I think there's somewhere to pull in a bit further along this road."

"It's strange, coming back," she states as Harry switches the engine off. "I didn't realise how much I missed it. Not Cheltenham itself," she clarifies, "but the surrounding area. I'd forgotten how lovely the Cotswolds are."

"It's a beautiful part of the world."

"Perhaps my mother's right. I've become so immersed in London and my job that I've lost sight of everything else."

Harry considers his reply, carefully. "What we do…our…profession. It can be all-consuming. We tend to…to forget that there is more to life than work."

"Yes. We do."

They fall silent but the car is filled with the sound of the rain rattling against the windscreen, supplemented by the intermittent sweep of the wipers. One needs adjusting - the rubber of the blade occasionally judders against the glass. As she stares out of the window, Ruth wonders why she asked him to stop here; the view is non-existent. Maybe it's to delay facing her mother again. Maybe it's because she likes this time with Harry. They both seem to know when the other wants quiet: _a good quality_. Her mind begins to wander and she lets it.

"What would you like to do this evening?"

Harry's voice is soft and sensuous, fuelling the fantasy she is weaving. She turns to look at him. _I'd like you to take me back to your hotel and make love to me_. The words remain unspoken and she makes a more mundane suggestion.

"Shall we go out for dinner? I know a good place, well, if you like Greek food it's a good place."

"So long as I don't have to smash any plates." He pauses. "Or dance."

She laughs. "No plate smashing and no dancing, I promise."

"I can't say no then, can I?"

* * *

**Thanks for reading. More soon. :)**


	5. Chapter 5

**Thanks for the reviews :)**

* * *

It's still raining when they arrive back in Cheltenham.

"You'll have to give me directions, Ruth."

"It's OK, you can drop me here, Harry," she replies as they reach the town centre.

"But you'll get drenched. Let me take you to the door."

"No. Please. Here's fine."

Unwillingly, he stops the car. "Not ashamed of me are you?"

She knows the remark is not as light-hearted as he's trying to make it seem. "No Harry." She reaches up to caress his face and can feel the stubble on his chin as he leans into her touch. "Of course I'm not ashamed of you."

He closes his eyes, considers kissing her.

"I just need to get a couple of things before the shops shut."

The moment is gone.

When he looks at her again, she's fiddling with her handbag. "What time should I come and pick you up?"

He's neatly trapped her and she knows suggesting meeting at the restaurant is not an option now.

"Um, about a quarter to eight?" she offers, after quickly calculating how much time she needs to get ready.

"Fine. I'll see you then."

As she hurries through the rain, he watches her reflection in the rear view mirror until she is out of sight.

-x-

Harry is shaving when his phone rings.

"Malcolm."

"Hello Harry. I've managed to track down some of James Evershed's former colleagues who meet the criteria you gave me."

"Good. How many?"

"Well, there are eight in total. Two are working abroad so I assume you want to discount them."

"Yes. What about the rest?"

Malcolm goes through the remainder of the names and by the time he finishes, Harry has three possibilities. "Send their details through, please."

"Will do." The technician pauses. "Ruth's not…there's nothing wrong is there? She hasn't seemed herself the last few days."

"She's fine." Harry stops for a moment, reluctant to reveal any more information. "She needs help with something only she hasn't realised it yet," he finishes, cryptically.

"I see. Well, you can rely on my discretion, Harry."

"Thank you, Malcolm."

-x-

Ruth is soaked to the skin by the time she gets back to her mother's house. The front door sticks in wet weather so she has to push it, hard, to get it to open.

"Ruth? Is that you?" Her mother appears from the direction of the kitchen. "Good God, Ruth. You look like a drowned rat."

"Thanks. It's raining, in case you haven't noticed." She can't resist the sarcastic tone but immediately regrets it.

"What's the matter? _Lover's_ tiff?"

Ruth bites her lip, starts to count to ten.

"I presume from your silence that I'm right!" Her mother is triumphant.

"I'm going to get changed," Ruth says as she begins to climb the stairs. "I'm off out again later so don't bother making me any dinner."

"I wasn't going to," the older woman calls after her.

-x-

Harry sits on the end of the bed. He's finished shaving, is dressed and ready to leave but the taxi isn't due for another fifteen minutes. There is time to make a quick phone call and it will stop him dwelling on the thought that he is going out for dinner with Ruth. Again. At her suggestion.

He picks up his phone and dials.

"Dominic. Harry Pearce…Yes, it's been a while…I need you to do some research for me on a property in Cheltenham. It's due to be auctioned soon."

-x-

Ruth stands in front of the mirror, turning from side to side, trying to view herself from all angles. The dress she has bought, whilst not indecently short, has a higher hemline than anything she's worn for a long time. Her doubts dissipate, however, when she takes a step back to view the overall effect. The sheer fabric is flattering, highlighting her curves and making her feel attractive and feminine.

She decides she's pleased with her purchase. For something that was seen, tried on and paid for within ten minutes, it ranks as possibly her most successful impulse buy. Smiling to herself, she starts to look for the items she wants to finish the outfit off with: the string of black pearls she rarely wears but inexplicably brought with her and her favourite black silk scarf.

-x-

Harry is feeling very nervous as he rings the doorbell. When the door opens, he is confronted by a short, thick-set woman .

"Mrs Evershed?"

"No. Anyway, she's Ms Bickley these days. You'll do well to remember that."

"Right, of course. Sorry." Harry stops, uncertain how to address the person in front of him. "So you're…?"

"A friend of the family. Who are you?"

"A friend of Ruth's," he counters, quickly.

She turns away from him. "I suppose you'd better come in then."

He hesitates for a moment before stepping over the threshold and into the house.

"Ruthie! Ruthie!" The shrill voice of the unidentified woman is jarring and he grimaces as she continues, "your boyfriend's here."

He is certain she mutters something that sounds like 'although _boy_ is a generous description' as she walks down the hall.

Ruth swears, fluently, when she hears the voice from downstairs. "I'll be two minutes," she calls in reply.

While Harry waits, he studies a watercolour hanging near the front door. Voices from further down the hall attract his attention.

"That's him." The woman who had let him into the house is pointing in his direction. Next to her is a slim blonde, who is eyeing him suspiciously.

The two women advance towards him.

"So, you're the boyfriend are you?"

The question comes from the female he assumes is Ruth's mother.

"That's right. I'm Harry. It's nice to meet you." He takes a couple of steps forward and extends his hand.

Ruth's mother falters but then briefly shakes hands with him. "I'd like to say I've heard all about you but my daughter never tells me anything. How long have you known her?"

"Quite a while."

"I see." She looks him up and down. "You're older than Ruth. Quite a bit older."

As she walks down the stairs, Ruth overhears her mother's comment. "For God's sake!" she exclaims.

Aware that a full scale argument is likely, Harry takes control of the situation. "It's been lovely to meet you," he lies, smoothly, "but we have to go." He grasps Ruth's hand firmly, opens the front door and practically bundles her out.

"Harry-"

"Keep walking. I'm not going to have our evening ruined by an argument with your mother."

As they reach the car, Ruth stops. "It's a taxi."

"Well spotted. I'm glad to see there's nothing wrong with your observational skills," he replies, dryly. "Come on, get in."

As they settle themselves into the cab, he continues the conversation. "I thought we'd get a taxi so we can both have a drink. Please feel free to ply me with Retsina and Ouzo if you wish."

Unsure how to respond, Ruth doesn't reply.

"I was joking."

"I know," she reassures him.

There is a short, slightly awkward, silence.

"You look wonderful. That dress really suits you."

She blushes and her fingers fiddle with the hem. "This-"

"Don't you dare say 'this old thing – it's been in the wardrobe for ages'; I won't believe you." The warning tone of his voice is tempered by the wide smile he is sporting. "Just accept the compliment."

"Thanks," she says, quietly. She is suddenly aware of the thin material of the dress and the close proximity of Harry. "I'm sorry about my mother," she says, in order to stop herself from being distracted by thoughts of how much closer she wants to be to him.

"Don't worry about it." He squeezes her hand. "Who was the other woman?"

Ruth shudders. "Ugh! That's the awful Cynthia. My mother's so-called best friend. I can't stand the old Gorgon."

Harry laughs. "Then it's a good job we left when we did." She looks puzzled. "Before we got turned to stone," he explains.

* * *

**Next chapter - dinner ;) **


	6. Chapter 6

**Enjoy :)**

* * *

They are greeted warmly as they enter the restaurant, and quickly seated.

"My organisational skills haven't been much in evidence today," Ruth says as the waiter hands them their menus. "I hadn't even thought about booking a table."

"You've got other things to worry about, that's why I did it."

"Did I even tell you the name of this place?"

Harry shakes his head. "No, but it's the only Greek restaurant in Cheltenham. It wasn't difficult to find."

"Not much of a challenge for you then?"

"Not really, especially as the hotel receptionist was very helpful. Booked my taxi for me as well."

Ruth picks up her napkin, twists the corner of it. "I see. Attractive too, I suppose? The receptionist." She tries to banish unwelcome thoughts of Harry flirting with some pretty, female hotel employee.

"Young, intelligent, personable and yes, attractive…if you like rugby prop forwards."

It takes her several moments to work out what he's said. "A _male_ receptionist?"

"Shocking, isn't it?" he says, in mock outrage.

"Are you making fun of me?" She is aware of how defensive she sounds.

"No." He leans forward. "I'm teasing you; it's not the same thing at all."

The soft tone of his voice makes the comment seem far more suggestive than it should.

She wills herself not to look away from him. "I-I think you might have to explain the difference to me."

"I'd be delighted to."

A discreet cough interrupts their flirting. "Would you like to see the wine list?" the waiter asks, politely.

Ruth is grateful for the chance to catch her breath. "Yes please."

-x-

As the evening progresses, they both begin to relax.

"This is wonderful," Harry says, smiling warmly. He is clearly referring to more than the food and the restaurant.

"I'm not sure what _this_ is." Ruth's reply is directed towards the plate in front of her.

"It looks like _keftedes_ to me."

She purses her lips. "That's not what I meant."

"Sorry." He gives her one of his familiar half-smiles and picks up the wine carafe. While he refills their glasses, he considers how to respond to her uncertainty.

"It's dinner, Ruth. Whatever else it is…whatever else it might become…that's entirely up to you." His voice drops to a low, intimate whisper. "This can be anything you want it to be."

She can feel her heart racing. He is seducing her, skilfully and gently, she knows it, and she doesn't want him to stop.

"W-what do you want it to be?" She is gripping the stem of her wineglass so tightly she's surprised it doesn't snap.

"I think you already know the answer to that."

For a few seconds it feels like the rest of the world has disappeared and it's just the two of them.

"Yes, I think I do," she breathes.

Their eyes meet and they silently dare each other to make the next move. In the end, it's Harry who speaks first.

"Do you know what you want, Ruth?"

"I…" Her throat constricts as she tries to speak and she has to take a sip of her wine.

"For dessert."

"Dessert…" She doesn't finish the sentence.

"I know." He shrugs. "Conversation shifts. One of my specialities."

-x-

As they leave the restaurant, Ruth inhales the cool evening air and sighs. "If I had more willpower I would have said no to the _Ekmek_."

Harry laughs. "Well, you shouldn't have had ice cream as well."

"Shut up," she says, affectionately, "and start walking."

"Which direction?"

"Towards the railway station. There's a taxi rank outside."

They walk slowly, arm in arm, content in each other's company.

Ruth is lost in thought, wondering why it seems easier to be with him like this, away from London, Thames House and their colleagues.

"Penny for them."

"Hmm?"

"Penny for your thoughts." He pulls her closer to him. "Although I happen to think they're worth far more than that."

She laughs, softly. "I'm not sure they are. I was just thinking…you haven't said anything about…well, about us having dinner again. After I said I wouldn't."

He shrugs. "Woman's prerogative isn't it? To change her mind?"

She stops walking, making him stop, too. "I'm serious, Harry."

"You said you _couldn't_ have dinner with me again, not that you _wouldn't_-"

"Now you're splitting hairs."

"That's _my_ prerogative. And I happen to think that 'couldn't' and 'wouldn't' are two different things."

She exhales, loudly, her exasperation evident.

"We're not going to argue, are we?" he asks.

The concern in his voice defuses her anger. "No, we're not. I've had enough arguments the past couple of days to last me a lifetime."

They start walking again.

"I'm glad you decided you could and would have dinner with me again. Anyway, we'd already had an impromptu supper so-"

"Bloody pedant!" she scolds him, good-humouredly.

He's quiet for a few moments. "I meant what I said earlier. This can be anything you want it to be."

She doesn't reply; instead, she presses herself more firmly against his side.

They are silent during the drive back but it's a comfortable silence. Ruth is drowsy so she rests her head on Harry's shoulder and dozes.

He watches her sleep. It would be easy, he thinks, to continue what he started over dinner; to invite her back to his hotel; to take her to bed; to show her how much she means to him. He could prove to her that she is attractive and desirable and worthy of being loved, no matter what her mother has told her. But he won't; she's too vulnerable at the moment and he won't take advantage of her.

Ruth wakes up as they near the house. She begins to get nervous, wondering if her mother is looking out for her. It's ridiculous, she knows that; like being a teenager again.

The taxi stops and Harry insists on walking her to the door. For a moment she wishes he wasn't quite so chivalrous.

"Thank you for this evening. Thank you for the whole day." His quiet words are genuine, heartfelt.

She lets her fingers twine through his. "I'm the one who should be saying thank you."

They stop by the front door, reluctant to part. Her free hand is restless, flitting lightly over his jacket before coming to rest on his shoulder. She stands on tiptoe and kisses him, her lips brushing the corner of his mouth.

"Thank you," she whispers.

"Anytime," he replies, gently squeezing her hand before her fingers slip out of his grasp.

She wonders if he'll kiss her. He does but it is a fleeting touch of his lips against her cheek rather than a passion-filled embrace. It's enough, though.

"I'll ring you in the morning," he says, softly, before winking at her.

She watches him get back into the taxi and waves. She is still standing on the doorstep long after the sound of the engine has died away.

As she carefully closes the front door, Ruth is greeted by Cynthia.

"Glad to see you didn't try and sneak lover-boy in."

She ignores the comment.

The red-faced harridan is clutching a tumbler, the contents of which slop over the edge of the glass as she moves along the hallway.

"Been snogging him on the doorstep have you?" The question is accompanied by a leer and a cackle.

Ruth blanches; she's sure the gin fumes are strong enough to strip paint. "I'm going to bed," she states, flatly.

"Oh, don't be a misery! Come and tell us about your evening with your _boy_friend. Your mother is dying to hear all about him."

Biting back a caustic reply, she moves to the stairs. "Night." She concentrates on each step, moving at a regular, unhurried pace, determined not to run away and cry.

Ruth shuts the bedroom door firmly and leans against it. She is angry with Cynthia but angrier with herself for getting upset.

-x-

Raucous laughter can occasionally be heard from the two women downstairs but Ruth tries to ignore it. She picks up her phone and sits on the end of the bed. If she rang Harry and asked him to come and get her, she knows he would. It is a tempting idea.

She is still holding the phone as she gets into bed and is startled when it beeps and momentarily vibrates in her hand. She smiles as she reads the message.

_Thank you, again.__ Talk to you tomorrow. Sweet dreams. Hx_

Her reply is simple.

_You too. __Rx_

* * *

**Thanks for reading - more, soonish :)**


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N This chapter was getting very long so I've split it in two. Bit angsty, I'm afraid.**

* * *

Harry steps out of the shower just in time to hear the voicemail alert on his phone. He swears under his breath and wraps a towel around his waist. Water drips from him onto the floor as he plays the message.

"H-Harry, it's me…Ruth…I'm…" A muffled noise interrupts her. "Sorry…I, er, I was wondering, would you mind giving me a lift back to London? Thanks. Ring me, please. Bye."

He paces the length of his room and back again before she answers the phone. "It's me. What's wrong?"

"N-nothing…I…did you get my message?"

"Yes."

"Can I have a lift home?"

"Of course you can."

"Thanks." She sounds distant, almost as if she's talking to herself. "I have a few things to take back with me."

"Please tell me what's wrong." The line goes quiet and he's not sure if she's hung up. "Ruth?"

"I just want to go home, Harry."

"I'll be half an hour."

It takes him twenty minutes.

The first thing he notices when she opens the front door is her red-rimmed eyes.

"That was quick," she says, not giving him a chance to speak. "I hope you didn't caught by any speed cameras."

"If I did, you can always help me get into the relevant database and cancel the ticket."

She smiles, weakly, and steps back to let him into the house.

"You said you had some things to take back to London. Is that them?" He points towards four battered cardboard boxes at the foot of the stairs.

"Yes."

Between them, they load the boxes into Harry's car. "Anything else?" he asks as he checks the boot lid will close.

"I just need to get my bag, I won't be long."

Ten minutes later, she still hasn't returned so he goes to look for her. He finds her, in her room, sitting on the end of the bed. When she looks up at him, he can see she's been crying again. He sits down next to her and takes her left hand into his right.

"There are so many memories in this house, Harry."

He remains silent, letting her gather her thoughts.

"When I came home for the holidays, the first summer after my father died, it was so strange. My mother was very distant and barely said a word to me. Cynthia was here, too, and that didn't help. I remember she told me it was probably better if I stayed out of the way." She stops for a moment and dabs at the corner of eyes with a tatty tissue. "I took to spending time with Alan. He lived next door." She smiles, unexpectedly. "He was the first boy I kissed…how clichéd…the boy next door."

"Lucky lad," Harry says, softly.

She laughs to hide her embarrassment. "I don't know about that." Her right hand moves to the hem of her top and she starts to twist a loose thread round her fingers. "He was my first boyfriend. It was all very innocent," she adds, quickly, worried he'll get the wrong idea.

"I'm sure it was."

There is a change in her posture; it's slight, but he notices.

"Take me home, Harry."

Cynthia is standing at the bottom of the stairs, arms folded across her chest. "Invite him round for _breakfast_, did you?" she sneers.

Harry tightens his grip on Ruth's hand. "Ignore her," he whispers.

"You'd better come and see this, Liz," Cynthia shouts in the direction of the sitting room.

Ruth's mother appears in response to her friend's summons. "Well, well, I might have known."

"H-he's giving me a lift back to London." Ruth feels like she's twelve years old again and she hates it. "That's why he's here."

"Really? You expect me to believe that? Good grief-"

"Frankly, _I_ don't care what you think or what you believe," Harry cuts in. "I'm taking her home."

"Typical! She's got you wrapped round her little finger! Just like her father was!"

Her mother's vitriolic accusation makes Ruth gasp.

"Did she cry down the phone at you? How pathetic!" Cynthia comments, snidely. "She flashes her knickers at you and you'll do anything for her. Or has she already drop-"

"You poisonous old witch!" Harry's voice echoes around the hall, silencing the two older women. "You really don't care about Ruth do you? Either of you? No wonder she's desperate to get back to London."

"How dare you accuse me of not caring about my daughter! You have no right to say-"

"When her father died, you sent her away to boarding school. How perverse is that?" Harry's question is met with silence. "Well? Nothing more to say?" There is still no response. "It's a bloody good job she's got me. At least I care about her, about what she wants. And I'll do everything I can to give her the kind of life she deserves."

They leave without saying any more.

-x-

Harry waits until they are several streets away before speaking.

"I'm sorry, Ruth. I know I've probably made things a hundred times worse but I couldn't listen to those two any longer without saying something."

"It's OK, Harry." She clears her throat. "I've wanted to call Cynthia an old witch for years."

He looks at her; she's trying to suppress a smile. "Perhaps you should have done."

She laughs at his comment. "Perhaps I should."

The next few miles pass in silence. Without knowing, both of them are dwelling on Harry's comments about his feelings for Ruth. He wonders if he's said too much; she wants to ask him if he meant it. In her heart though, she knows every word is true.

"What's in the boxes?" Harry asks, interrupting her thoughts.

"Oh, just some of my father's things. Research papers, diaries, journals from his trips to the Middle East. My mother was going to throw it all away. Apparently the auctioneer told her they were of no value to anyone outside of the family."

"His research will be of value."

"What makes you think that? It's nearly thirty years old; who would be interested?"

"Your father was very well-respected in the medical profession. I'm sure some of his colleagues would be extremely interested in his papers."

Her brow furrows. "Have you been reading my file again?"

The accusation stings a little; he is reminded of a difficult situation and his own, rather manipulative, behaviour. "Not exactly, no. But I've been doing some research. Or rather, Malcolm has. He's come up-"

"You've told Malcolm? I can't believe you did that!"

"I asked him to trace your father's colleagues, that's all."

"That's all?" she shouts. "You know how much I value my privacy, Harry. Why did you have to involve him? I told you about my mother's plans because I thought I could trust you. Obviously I was mistaken."

Her words cut through him. "You _can_ trust me. I didn't-"

"You betrayed my confidence!" Hot tears spill down her face. "You bastard! You betrayed me."

Her furious accusation hurts him and he responds angrily. "If you'd bothered to let me finish, I'd have told you exactly what I said to him."

She ignores him.

"Ruth?" Despite the lack of response, he continues, "I asked Malcolm to trace some of your father's colleagues, specifically those who might be interested in acquiring his papers, either for themselves or for the institutions they currently work for. I didn't tell him why, and I most certainly did not betray you."

When she eventually speaks, her voice is quiet. "Did he ask you why?"

"No. He'd noticed you hadn't seemed yourself and asked me if you were OK. That's all."

"I see."

Harry looks at her. "People do care about you, Ruth."

She doesn't acknowledge his comment. He sighs, heavily, and turns his attention back to the road.

* * *

**More soon. **


	8. Chapter 8

**Thanks to those who are still taking the time to read this. :)**

* * *

The sensation of the car slowing down wakes Ruth. "What are we stopping for?"

"Petrol."

Harry doesn't say anything else and when he returns from paying for the fuel, Ruth can feel her nerves starting to tense. "I need the toilet," she blurts out. "Sorry."

He shakes his head. "Doesn't matter. We'll have to go round to the main service area, though."

"I'll be as quick as I can," she says, as Harry reverses the car into a parking space.

"Don't rush on my account. I'm going to get a coffee."

They cross the car park in silence and Ruth finds herself having to make an effort to keep up with Harry.

"Do you want one?" he asks, nodding his head towards the coffee shop.

"N-no," she stammers, surprised by his offer. "Thanks."

When she comes back from the Ladies, Ruth finds Harry outside, sitting at one of the tables in the optimistically named 'Picnic Area'. She sits down opposite him. "I can't think why anyone would want a picnic at a service station. Especially by the main entrance."

"Me neither." He smiles, half-heartedly. "Here," he pushes a plastic lidded cardboard cup towards her.

"I said I didn't want a coffee."

"It's hot chocolate."

"Oh, right. Thanks."

"I got you this as well." He holds out a paper bag, the top of which is folded over, obscuring the logo on it.

Ruth looks at it apprehensively. "What is it?"

"A chocolate chip cookie."

"Do you think that's the way to my heart?" It's meant as a joke but her tone is sharp.

He snorts. "If only it was that easy."

She picks at the rim of her cup, unsure how to respond.

"I wish you'd believe me about Malcolm. I haven't told him anything you told me. I haven't betrayed you; I never would. Not in any way."

His voice is gentle, and Ruth knows his words are truthful but it doesn't make answering him any easier.

"Sweetheart," he pleads, "I wouldn't do anything to hurt you."

She looks up at him. "You called me sweetheart."

Harry runs his hand over his face. "Sorry, it's just an expression. I didn't mean to-"

"I didn't say I didn't like it."

He takes a sip of his coffee before responding. "You can be bloody infuriating at times."

"So can you," she retorts but with humour in her voice. "Must be why we get on so well."

"Yes, it must be."

She shifts in her seat and looks away from him. "I'm sorry I called you a bastard."

"It's not the first time. Probably won't be the last, either." He sees the emotion in her eyes as he speaks; an old memory surfacing. "Although I think I probably deserved it the first time," he adds, thoughtfully.

Ruth feels her breath catch. The events of the EERIE exercise are ones she tries not to recall. Even then, despite the short time she'd been at Thames House, he was the focal point of her life. The thought of losing him had terrified her more than the prospect of her own death. Her show of anger when he'd emerged, unscathed, from his office, had been real. But underlying it had been an intoxicating sense of relief that he was still alive.

She picks up the bag Harry offered her earlier and peers inside. "Chocolate chip, you said."

"Belgian chocolate apparently but I wouldn't like to vouch for the authenticity."

"Hmm." She retrieves the biscuit and neatly breaks it in two. "Half each?"

He smiles at her. "Good idea."

-x-

Ruth gazes out of the car window, deep in thought.

"You've gone quiet on me." Harry gets no response so he reaches over and squeezes her hand. "Are you all right sweetheart?"

"Yes. Sorry, I was miles away." She looks at him for a moment. "Traffic's got busy."

He's not fooled by her attempt at small talk. "It has but that's not what's bothering you, is it?"

"No, it's not," she eventually says. "It's something my mother said. On Friday, after the auctioneer had been."

"Something you've not told me."

It's not an accusation but she still feels guilty. "I haven't told you because…because you won't like it."

"There's not much your mother says that I _do_ like."

Ruth gives a small laugh. "True." She starts to nervously twist her fingers together. "She said if I really didn't want her to sell the house then I could have it, at a price."

"What's the price?"

She doesn't answer.

"Ruth?"

"It's complicated."

"Why?"

This is not a discussion she wants to have in the car. "I'll explain when we get back to mine."

Harry is unsettled by her reply but says nothing more.

-x-

With the car unloaded and the cats fed, Ruth knows she's run out of excuses to avoid finishing the conversation she started earlier with Harry. "I said I'd explain things," she says as she hands him a mug of coffee.

"You did." He watches her as she paces around the sitting room. "Are you going to sit down?"

"No. I-I don't want to." She stops by the mantelpiece and picks up a framed photograph. "My Great Aunt," she says, waving the picture about. "This was her house. She left it to me. It was intended for my father but…"

"I know this was your Aunt's." Harry is puzzled by the direction the conversation is taking.

"Yes, of course you do. My file." Ruth returns the photo to its spot on the mantle.

The uneasiness Harry felt early has returned and is stronger now. "I don't understand-"

"Please Harry. I'm trying to explain." She starts to pace again. "The only way I can have my mother's house is to give her this one in exchange."

"What does she want this house for?"

"I'm not entirely sure." Ruth pauses, trying to organise her thoughts. "When my father died, my mother assumed this house would be left to her despite knowing my aunt couldn't stand her. Instead, I inherited it and it's been a bone of contention ever since."

Harry shakes his head. "So all of this upset is because of some petty grudge of your mother's?"

"Partly. It's really about making me choose. If we exchange houses, I'll have to move back to Cheltenham. I can have my mother's house on condition I live in it and don't rent it out."

"That's outrageous! She can't do that!"

Ruth shrugs her shoulders. "Apparently, her solicitor told her she can impose any conditions she wants on the exchange."

"That can't be legal," Harry says, helplessly. "Please tell me you're not going to agree to what she wants."

"What else can I do?"

There is desperation on both sides now.

"You can't give up your home, your job, your friends." The thought that she will also be giving him up is too painful and too frightening to voice.

"I feel so torn, Harry. I love my mother's house but I also love this place…my life here…my work..."

He waits, wondering if he'll be included on the list of things she loves but she doesn't say any more. "Then let me help you," he says. "I'll buy out your mother-"

"I can't ask you to do that. Anyway, she would never sell to you."

"You're not asking, I'm offering. And she'd never know I was the buyer."

"Harry, it's too much. You can't…"

He stands up, holds his hands out to her. "Please, let me help you."

"I don't know…" She feels trapped; she wants to accept his offer but is terrified of what he expects in return. Expectations she might not be able to meet. Her self-doubt wins out. "No Harry. You can't. _I_ can't."

"You're going back to Cheltenham?" He speaks quietly, his voice filled with hurt and disappointment.

"Yes…maybe...I don't know." She's wavering; caught between the desire not to cause him any more pain and the need to hold on to something tangible from her past. She turns away, overwhelmed by how complicated her life has become. "I need to be on my own. I need time to think."

He crosses the room, stands behind her. "Promise me," he asks, "that you won't make any hasty decisions." He places his hands on her shoulders and turns her around to look at him. "Please, Ruth."

Being so close to him is almost her undoing. She rests her hands against his chest; not pushing him away but not holding on to him, either. They stay like that for several moments until he pulls away from her. He's fighting the urge to take her into his arms and kiss her; kiss her until she understands that she makes his life worth living.

"Harry," she breathes.

Suddenly, he's holding her, tightly, and she's trembling. Or maybe it's him; he can't quite decide. "No hasty decisions," he whispers, "about _anything_. Promise me."

She shifts in his arms. "I promise." Her pledge is sealed with a kiss; fleeting, soft and totally unexpected.

The sensation of her lips against his lingers long after he gets home.

* * *

**More soon :)**


	9. Chapter 9

**This got quite long so isn't the last chapter, after all. :)**

* * *

The Grid lights flicker on as Harry steps out of the pod, indicating that he is the first arrival of the day. He knows he shouldn't be surprised, given that it's only 6.30 a.m. but he half expected Ruth to be there. Whether that's a good or bad sign is something he's not sure about.

Just before seven o'clock, his phone rings.

"Morning Harry. It's Dominic. I've got some information for you on that house in Cheltenham."

Harry makes notes as his old friend runs through what he's found out. "It all sounds good to me," he says as he taps his pen absentmindedly on the notepad.

"It is." There's a pause. "Harry, if you're looking for somewhere for your retirement, there are plenty of decent cottages in the surrounding villages."

"It's not for my retirement."

"Then I hope you're not thinking of going into property development because the council are about to extend the conservation area and that house will fall within it. Anyone expecting to buy it, demolish it and build half a dozen houses in its place is going to be disappointed."

"Really?" Harry leans back in his chair. "That's useful to know."

-x-

Ruth is rummaging through her handbag, trying to find her security pass, when she catches her foot on a step and stumbles. A strong hand grips her arm, preventing her from falling.

"Careful. Don't want you breaking anything."

"H-Harry. I was looking for my…sorry…thanks." She is aware of the warmth of his fingers where he is still holding on to her. "H-have you got a moment?"

"Not really. I've got to go. Meeting. At the Home Office."

He sounds as disorientated as she feels.

"I'll see you later, Ruth."

There's a gentle pressure on her arm before he starts to walk away. At the bottom of the steps he stops and looks back at her for a moment.

-x-

Ruth glances around before entering the forgery suite but there is no one else nearby.

"Can you spare a minute, Malcolm?"

The technician looks up at her and smiles. "Of course."

"Um, Harry told me you've been doing some research for him. About my father's colleagues."

"Yes, I have."

"Did he…did he tell you why?"

Malcolm tilts his head on one side. "He said you needed help with something but you hadn't realised it yet. A typically Harry sort of remark, don't you think?"

She laughs, softly. "Yes, very Harry."

"Would you like to know what I found?"

"Please."

He taps at the keyboard in front of him and a list of names and photographs appear on the screen. "The three that are highlighted are the ones Harry deemed of most interest. Shall I send their details through to you?"

"Thanks, Malcolm." She picks up a small plastic box from the desk in front of her and starts to fiddle with it. "My mother decided to get rid of some of my father's things. Papers, journals…"

"You don't have to tell me, Ruth."

"I know. I just…well, Harry did say that you asked him if I was all right."

Malcolm blushes and shifts in his chair. "You've seemed a bit upset recently…I'm concerned about you."

Ruth smiles. "Thank you." Without warning, she lightly kisses him on the cheek and is amused when he goes an even deeper shade of crimson. "You've just proved that something Harry told me the other day is true."

"Oh?"

"He said people care about me."

"They do." He hesitates. "And some of them care a great deal."

When Ruth gets back to her desk and logs onto her computer, she finds an email from Malcolm:

_R_

_Attached is the information we discussed._

_Thought for the day:_

'_Our doubts are traitors and make us lose the good we oft might win by fearing to attempt.'_

_It might not be fashionable to say so but the Bard knew what he was talking about._

_M _

"You're absolutely right, Malcolm," she murmurs to herself.

-x-

It's nearly midday by the time Harry gets back to the Grid.

"We were about to send out a search party for you," Adam remarks as the older man passes his desk.

"Bloody civil servants. The best part of three hours to decide we need another meeting."

The blond grins. "Last time I checked, we were civil servants too."

"At least we get the job done," Harry remarks as he looks around the Grid. "Where is everyone?"

"_Everyone_ or someone in particular?"

"Don't get cute with me."

Adam laughs. "I wouldn't dream of it. Anyway, Ruth would never forgive me."

His comment is met with a raised eyebrow and a look that leaves him in no doubt he should just answer the question. "Section A - something about surveillance recordings from Gatwick."

-x-

Malcolm knocks on Harry's door and waits to be called in.

"What can I do for you Malcolm?" Harry asks without looking up.

"Er, how did you know it was me?"

"You're the only person who knocks _and_ waits."

"Ah, right."

"So?"

Malcolm is momentarily nonplussed . "Oh yes. I have the financial information for the Massud brothers. As we expected, very complicated; lots of holding companies, subsidiaries and sub-contractors. It's going to be a nightmare to get someone on the inside but we can do it."

"Good. Leave it with me."

Malcolm hands over the sheaf of papers. "Um..."

"She asked you, didn't she?"

Without mentioning any details, it's clear both of them know who, and what, they are talking about.

"Yes Harry, she did." Malcolm shifts from one foot to the other. "I gave her the information I found. That's not a problem is it?"

"No, of course not."

"Good." He moves towards the doorway. "I don't think that girl's had a lot of love in her life, and I don't just mean of the romantic variety."

Harry stops writing and looks up but Malcolm has gone. "No," he says softly, "I don't think she has."

-x-

"Sorry about rushing off earlier."

Ruth is startled by the unexpected but familiar voice by her ear. "Harry! You frightened the bloody life out of me!"

"I didn't mean to, sorry." He grabs an empty chair and moves it next to hers. "Does Malcolm know you're in here?" he asks as he sits down.

"I wasn't aware I needed his permission," she snaps. "Sorry, I didn't mean that." She turns to look at him. "I'm tired and these recordings aren't very clear."

"You didn't get a lot of sleep then?"

She shakes her head. "No. What about you?"

"I was here at half past six."

She watches him as he speaks and her brow furrows. "You missed a bit," she says, running a finger over a small patch of stubble on his cheek.

The unexpected physical contact makes him struggle to find his voice. "That's what comes of shaving at 5.30 in the morning when you've had about four hours sleep," he finally croaks out.

"Harry? Ah, there you are."

Ruth snatches her hand back just as Zaf's head appears round the doorway of the forgery suite.

"Zafar," Harry says, in lieu of swearing at the younger man.

"Er, phone call for you. It's urgent. Adrian Palmerston from the Saudi desk at Six."

"Right," Harry replies, decisively. He leaves the room without a backward glance.

"So, what are you up to, Ruth?" Zaf settles himself into the newly vacated seat next to her.

"Trying to make sense of these Gatwick tapes," she replies, airily, ignoring the mischievous glint in her colleague's eyes. "Now you're here, you can help," she adds, preventing him from questioning her any further.

-x-

Ruth returns from the canteen with two cups of coffee and a bulging paper carrier bag. She crosses the Grid, quickly, and goes into Harry's office.

"I know you're tired but go easy on the caffeine," he remarks, with some amusement.

"One's for you." She sets the items down on his desk. "I thought we could have a late lunch…" she tails off, registering the look on his face.

"It's a lovely idea but I've got a meeting at Scotland Yard and I need to leave in a minute."

"Oh…It's just that…I want to…it doesn't matter."

Something in the jumble of words registers with Harry; she's made a decision. "I've got to go to the Cabinet Office once I'm finished at the Yard but why don't you meet me afterwards? We could have a drink…"

She considers his suggestion. "OK."

"Good. How about The Chandos? Say 6.30?"

She nods. "Yes."

* * *

**Find out Ruth's decision in the next chapter, which really **_**will**_** be the last one. :)  
**


	10. Chapter 10

**Final chapter :)**

* * *

The pub is reasonably quiet and Ruth feels self-conscious as she looks around, deciding where best to wait. There is plenty of space but she doesn't want to be in full view of the other customers. Her eyes settle on a corner table that is being vacated by a young couple. As soon as they've gone, she claims the spot for herself. She debates which side of the table to sit, finally settling on the long bench seat. This will give Harry the option of either sitting opposite her or next to her.

She sips at her drink, fiddles with the strap of her handbag, refolds her coat; unsuccessfully trying to push away the restlessness that has plagued her all day. Even the walk to the pub hasn't helped as she had to hurry the last few hundred yards when it began to rain. She looks at her watch – 6.26 p.m. Four minutes and he'll be there. She refuses to consider the possibility that he might be late. Movement at the bar attracts her attention but it isn't him. She takes another mouthful of wine and is surprised to see her glass is half empty. _Half-full_, she mentally corrects herself; today is a day for optimism. She runs her finger down the bowl of the glass, making a clear track in the condensation on it. In her head, she rehearses what she will say to him, tries to imagine what his reaction will be.

"Hi. Have you been waiting long?"

The soft voice interrupts her silent musings. "No, I…no, not long, Harry."

"Would you like another one?" He nods towards the now abandoned wineglass.

"Er, yes please."

"What is it?"

"White-" She stops, suddenly, and blushes. "Er, wine," she finishes, unhelpfully.

He smiles and shakes his head. "I'd worked that much out. Don't worry, I think I can guess."

She curses under her breath, regretting her choice of drink.

When Harry returns a few minutes later, he is carrying a bottle and two glasses. He sits down opposite her. "Thought I'd join you," he says as he pours a generous measure of wine for each of them. "White burgundy, very appropriate." He touches his glass against hers. "Cheers."

Ruth smiles and sips at her wine, trying to organise her thoughts.

"You've decided what you're going to do."

"Yes…I…I have," she replies. Her hand is shaking so she puts her glass down. "My…my life is here, in London. There's nothing to be gained by going back to Cheltenham." She looks at him. "But there's everything to be lost."

He lets out a ragged breath. "I'm glad you're not leaving. I realise it's selfish of me to say that but I am glad."

"It's not selfish, Harry. I know how much you…care…about me. For me." She reaches across the table and places her hand on his.

"I would…" He clears his throat. "I would have begged you to stay if you'd decided to leave London." He turns his hand round under hers until he is grasping her fingers. "I know how that makes me sound – sad and desperate. A lonely old man chasing after a younger woman-"

"Harry!" Her voice is fierce. "You aren't _any_ of those things." She takes hold of his other hand, gripping it tightly. "You are a sweet, warm, kind and thoughtful man. I would never have got through the last few days without you."

"I…" He stops and looks down at the table. When he finally meets her gaze again, she can see he's close to tears.

"Come and sit next to me," she says, tugging on his hands. Obediently, he does as he's told. "Softie," she murmurs, pulling him against her.

His hair is still damp from the rain and she twists strands of it through her fingers, curling the ends. She buries her face into his neck, spurred on by the need to breathe in the deliciously familiar scent of him.

"Sweetheart," he whispers.

Ruth lifts her head to look at him.

"I thought I was going to lose you." He grasps her hand and places it on his chest.

She can feel his rapid heartbeat under her fingers. "Never, Harry. Never."

He presses his lips to hers, kissing her with a tenderness that makes her own heart race.

"You're certain you want to stay?" he asks, pulling away slightly.

"Yes," she smiles. "I'm certain."

"What about your mother's house? My offer still stands."

"No Harry. It's very kind of you but I can't let you take on such a big commitment. My mother can sell the house. After all, in the great scheme of things, it's only bricks and mortar."

She's trying to put on a brave face but he knows the prospect of losing her childhood home is hurting her deeply. He also knows that it is within his power to take that pain away.

Ruth nudges him, gently. "Can I ask you something?"

"Of course."

"Does the age difference between us really bother you? It doesn't bother me," she quickly adds, preventing him from turning the question back on her.

"I'd be a liar if I said I hadn't thought about it. That picture of you at Bournemouth…"

"It's been nearly twenty years since I was the girl in that photo. I certainly wouldn't fit into that bikini now."

"That's a shame."

"Don't be cheeky!" It's an ineffectual admonishment as she can't keep the amusement out of her voice.

"Sorry," he replies, sounding anything but.

"I think if I'd met you when I was seventeen," she says, carefully, her fingers smoothing over his tie, "then it probably wouldn't have worked out. There were things I wanted to do with my life and you were…well, you needed time to heal from your divorce."

"You're right." He catches hold of her hand and raises it to his lips, delicately kissing the palm. "As always."

She smiles at him. "But now, it doesn't matter. It really doesn't. You do believe me don't you?"

"Yes Ruth. I do." He kisses her hand again.

-x-

They spend the next hour enjoying each other's company, both of them happy they no longer have to hide their feelings.

"We should probably get something to eat," Harry says, looking at his watch. It's just after eight o'clock and the pub has got busier while they have been talking.

"Good idea. I just need to…" She nods her head towards the other end of the pub. "I'll be back in a minute."

Harry waits until she is nearly out of sight before taking his phone out of his pocket.

"Dominic. That house in Cheltenham is definitely going to auction…trust me, I know…I need you to do something for me."

By the time Ruth comes back, Harry has finished his call. "All set?"

She nods.

"You know every decent restaurant will be packed," she comments as they step out onto the rain soaked pavement.

"I know a place where a table is guaranteed and the service is excellent. It's very exclusive too."

"Oh? Will I like it?"

"I think so," he smiles. "The speciality of the house is tuna and crisp sandwiches."

"Wh-" Realisation dawns. "Harry! Tuna and crisps?"

"Don't knock it till you've tried it," he laughs.

She starts to laugh as well and it feels wonderful.

"Come on," he says, taking her hand. "Let's see if we can find a taxi."

"I've got a better idea."

He stops, feet balanced on the kerb, and gives her a questioning look.

"Let's get the bus. There's one coming now. If we run, we can catch it."

They manage to find a seat on the top deck and sit down. Both of them are out of breath from the sudden exertion.

"Oh dear," Ruth gasps. "I think my Great Aunt was right, after all."

"About what?" Harry replies whilst trying to shake rainwater out of his left shoe.

"About never running after buses. She used to say it was undignified and seldom worth it as there would always be another one along soon." She frowns. "Mind you, she used to say that about men as well."

Harry chuckles as he slides his arm around her shoulders. "I'd like to have met your Aunt."

Ruth looks up at him and smiles. "I think she would've approved of you."

"Yes?"

"Yes. She'd have thought that you were definitely worth running after. Just like I do." Her affirmation is sealed with a kiss.

"Will you promise me one thing?" he asks. "I don't mind if you end up like your Aunt - I like the sound of her - but please don't turn into your mother."

"I promise. If I do, you can divorce me."

Harry raises an eyebrow. "I haven't married you yet."

Ruth blushes and starts to babble. "Well, I didn't mean div-…I…_yet_?"

His reply is a soft, lingering kiss.

-x-

The rain has almost stopped by the time they reach Harry's.

As he puts the key in the door, Ruth reaches up and tenderly caresses his face. "You know I…" she trails off, struggling to articulate her emotions.

"Yes, I know." He tucks a stray lock of her hair behind her ear. "Me too," he whispers against her mouth, "me too."

And they stand on the doorstep, lost in each other's embrace.

* * *

**Thanks to everyone who has taken the time to read and review. There may be a sequel…**


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